


No Cry, No Woman

by austinthegrouch



Category: Twilight Series - All Media Types, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: BAMF Bella Swan, Bella listening to Linkin Park is actually canon, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Neglect, Codependency, Depression, Everything Hurts And Nothing's Beautiful, Female Characters, Female Relationships, Gen, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Multi, No Romance, No Sex, Or is she though?, Out of Character Bella Swan, Personal Growth, Soul-Searching, Spitefic, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, Twilight Spitefic, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-08 15:45:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16432316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austinthegrouch/pseuds/austinthegrouch
Summary: Bella's too tired for either life or death now that she even managed to fail at dying. She's more a swirling ball of negativity and emptiness stuffed into a skin suit than a person. Renee, helpless and suffering from denial about her own issues, sends her off to live with dear Papa Charlie, who she hasn't seen since she was a toddler. God, she hates everything.Alternatively, a sad stupid teen and her lack of sad stupid dreams.





	No Cry, No Woman

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly based on my own life and trauma. I hate Twilight, and always have/will, but I still think New Moon describes my struggle with mental illness with its many blank pages and general detachment better than any other trashy novel I've ever read. Of course, she ruins it when Edward comes back, but it was interesting while it lasted. So I expanded on it. Simultaneously the most personal and the worst thing I've ever written.

"You're a mess," she says, picking up the old lace bra blessing my desk with its presence. It's been there a week. I just laugh, a bitter thing that sounds like it died on the way up.

"Tell me something I don't know." I pick at my nails with my pencil, flicking the excess skin at my unwanted companion. Having that many hangnails seems like a bad sign, but since when the hell have I cared?

"Bella, you need to leave the house." Her voice is insistent, pleading, and it's one of the most hilarious things I've ever heard. I watch myself sob, a futile, fearless exercise, but oh so fascinating. The disassociation was a relief at this point. 

"So, you finally decided to act like a mom." I bury myself deeper under the covers, having already wasted my allotted socialization credits. I had even been thinking about leaving the house before this. Thanks, Renee. 

"We couldn't have this conversation when I came home crying every day in the 5th grade, when I told you there was something wrong with me in middle school, when I got into fights with anyone who even looked in my direction. It took me actually trying to kill myself for you to even try." She stiffens. She hates it whenever I reference how badly she's fucked up. I'm just glad Phil's not here. He's a real piece of work.

"I'm not going to comment on that. I know the diagnosis has been hard on you." Why do I even try to talk to her? She'll always deny everything. I used to record what she said, to make sure I was right. I never knew why my dad didn't just take me.

"It's not the diagnosis. All that shit was already there." She sighs, presumably at my swearing. She alternates between pseudo-hippie menstruation activist, party girl, and manipulative bitch. And she thinks I'm the crazy one. The switches defined my entire childhood. She'd lie about them too. I still have no idea how much of my life is even real.

"Your stepfather and I decided you might do better in a smaller town, like where your dad lives. More individualized attention in school and everything." I know what that really means. They're sick of me. They want fake-Bella back, with her fake spray tan, even faker smile, but she's dead. No problem, they'll just replace me with a newer model. I was born broken anyway.

I throw a pillow at her and she just stands there. So now she wants to be the victim. 

She's been sober since Phil, controlling asshole that he is, but I don't see that lasting very long.

"Fine. At least he can hold a job." I go for a low blow, wanting her to _hurt_. Her unemployment has always been her weak spot. The sight of her tears doesn't satisfy me like it should. Nothing does.

Renee leaves the room. I turn over and go back to sleep, turning over my pillow so I don't sleep in the spit stain.


End file.
